Winter Light
by Ember Nickel
Summary: Purimgifts 2013: "A smile is the same as sunshine; it banishes winter from the human countenance." A scene from the convent years.


Every day the girls have an hour to spend as they wish, and Cosette, of course, is always to be found with her father. For months and years, she never considers that the other girls have no family to spend these hours with, but that they pass their time together. Imitating accents is always a pleasure, whether it be recounting the lives of the saints in a Picard voice or trying to sing songs at a boyish pitch.

They get into a shouting match. "Boys don't talk so...growly. They just sing loud."

"Girls can sing loud! It's only that we have quiet songs."

"Let's ask Cosette what her father sounds like!"

So one day they persuade her to leave him be, working on a particularly fiendish patch of weeds, and join them in their investigations. "No," she eventually concludes, "you're right, he isn't too growly or too loud. Just...strong. Nice. What're you doing?"

"Sophie's doing silly voices," said Alexandrine, "go on, Sophie, show her how you do Sister Sainte-Michel!"

"Aye, come along, Sophie," cheer the others.

Sophie, blushing but entranced by the possibility of another target audience, flutters her hands up in front of her face as she rattles off a recitation. The assembled crowd applauds, though Cosette only blinks. "Is that Latin? I haven't learned so much yet."

"Look at her face," Alexandrine urges, "she's got a silly nose like Sister Saint-Michel!" In fact Sophie has already brought her hands back down to begin a rapid-fire hand-clapping game with Charlotte.

None of this makes it any easier for Cosette to follow along. "But that's not a real nose."

"Of course not, she's just pretending."

Cosette thinks this over. In the convent everyone has taken up different names; the nuns themselves are given new names, and become each other's mother and sister in Christ. She had once been Euphrasie and is now Cosette, she has found an uncle from nowhere, and her father more and more seems to have always been there, the distant memories of sisters and mothers with little love among them fading away. Yes, perhaps there is worth in this changing of names. "All right, then."

Sophie's hands fly in a whirl, clapping against Charlotte's until the latter can no longer keep up. But there are no winners or losers in the pupils' eager play, just panting and resting until the next round. "You ought to come play with us more," Charlotte calls, "it's fun."

"I suppose," she says, "but I like the hut, and Father shows me all the trees. Can't we play at the later, recreation hour?"

"We're not allowed to play clapping games at recreation hour," says Alexandrine, "one day Charlotte tried to clap with Sophie and hit her face instead."

"She didn't mean it!" Sophie disclaims, while Charlotte faces the ground, in a penitent blush.

"So that's why we have to play it at _this_ hour," Alexandrine continues, "no one ever said we couldn't play _now_."

Cosette shrugs, but doesn't really think it over, and all too soon they're called back to their lessons.

The next day, she joins with them at recreation hour, as always, and is as carefree as any of them. More carefree, in fact, as Charlotte has forgotten her sums again and has only been released through the most earnest pledges of improvement. The others try to cheer her up, but Sophie can only get through so many "now re_mem_ber, twice eight is _six_teen"s in a Picard flair before any thought of review is forgotten, and they are simply running this way and that, howling their laughs into the wintry sun.

But the afternoon sees her go back to her father's hut. "Are you all right?" he asks.

"Oh, yes! I remembered all my sums today."

"That's my wise girl," he smiles. "And yesterday?"

"What of yesterday?"

"You were not here, in the afternoon."

"Oh," says Cosette, "I wasn't. Only the other girls wanted me to talk with them. I'm sorry, I should have told you."

He forces himself to smile. "There's no need. You go on and play with them when you'd like."

"How is the work coming along?"

"Very well. There are still some old weeds, but they will be all cleared away by spring."

"I can help you!"

"Not today," he says, "they will hurt your hands."

"Sister Sainte-Marthe tells us that our bodies will hurt, but we ought to be strong..."

She trails off, having slipped into a gentle parody and having surprised both her father and herself. But he only smiles. "I am glad to hear you are learning."


End file.
